


Appetite

by Lexigent



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-25
Updated: 2016-03-25
Packaged: 2018-05-28 21:55:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6347056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexigent/pseuds/Lexigent





	Appetite

When I started sharing rooms with Sherlock Holmes, I had no conception of the kind of life that we would end up leading, or a notion of how often I would have to call upon my medical skills outside of my own surgery. Least of all, I could have foreseen that Holmes would become something of a patient. The man had some strange theories about the workings of the human body. While, after a certain time into our association, I was willing to overlook his occasional use of cocaine because admonishing him only seemed to make everything worse, there were some things I wasn't willing to stand for. 

In particular, he had somehow got it into his head that taking any form of nourishment while working would impede his ability to solve a case. Having learned from the experience with his cocaine habit, I therefore choose to adopt a different approach: that of the hungry companion. I would drag him into cafés and corner shops whenever the opportunity presented itself, and while taking care of my own needs, make sure he ate at least as much as needed to keep himself upright. 

That was all well and good while we were out and about. In our own rooms, I believe Holmes would not have eaten if it wasn't for Mrs. Hudson's putting food on the table with regularity. 

I would have wondered if he deliberately starved himself in other ways, but the way he seemed to shun human association made that a certainty. 

So, when I finally made my advances, they were met with, shall we say, great enthusiasm. 

I cannot now recall the particulars of the case we had been on, but I do recall it being very late when we arrived at Baker Street one night, and the case involving a public house that had served excellent ale. 

I shushed him as we made our way down the hallway and up the stairs, stumbling against one another. The light from the upper window fell on his face and illuminated his features _just so_... 

"Holmes," I said, and he turned, and I kissed him right there in the stairwell. It was a bold assumption, but mercifully a correct one, and he responded in kind to what I was offering, his lips melting into mine, his arms clinging to me. 

We came up for air eventually and looked at one another. A silent understanding passed, and I followed him up the stairs and into his bedroom. 

In a way, you could have said that I'd been asking for it all along. That I walked out of a war into a hospital and straight into a set of shared rooms with a madman who dragged me around the streets of London at all hours because I was hungry for some spark of danger, some thrill that normal civilian life as a doctor simply wouldn't have provided. 

It wouldn't quite explain how I found myself that night frantically tugging at buttons and shirt collars in Holmes' bedroom, but it would go a long way. 

Holmes was faster and more dexterous than me, and pulled me into bed with one of my shoes still on. I twisted reflexively, nearly elbowing Holmes in the process, and managed to shake off my footwear before coming to lie next to him. I pulled him into a kiss, felt his fingers on my face, my arms, then further down. I shifted my position, exhaled as his fingers slipped into my drawers. 

I let out a soft sound at his touch. My mouth came to rest against his collarbone. I closed my eyes and relaxed into his touch, felt him inhale sharply as I sucked the skin at the base of his throat. 

I didn't last long. He flinched as I shuddered from the force of my climax, but before I could give voice to my confusion, he breathed, "Your teeth, Watson." 

I apologised for my clumsiness as soon as I was able and then attended to the rather more pressing matter that presented itself inside Holmes' undergarments. 

We lay breathless for a long while after. He clasped my hand and kissed it, and I felt impossibly moved. There was something sated; content even, about him, and I shivered inwardly at the thought of what that meant. We must have drifted off eventually, because the next thing I knew was waking up to the sunlight coming in through the window. 

I was momentarily disoriented, then remembered the previous night's events and realised I was still in Holmes' bedroom rather than my own. I turned to face him. He was already awake. He raised an eyebrow at me, then twisted around to where his clothes lay pooled on the floor and retrieved his watch. 

"Holmes," I began, "about last night - " 

"Yes, my dear fellow," he cut me off, "I suppose we're both in need of a good breakfast after these exertions." 

The corners of his mouth twitched upwards as he turned back towards me, and I smiled back and nodded.


End file.
